A Man's Heart
by Clichex
Summary: In his many years of servitude, Severus Snape has allowed many to die by his hand. In a moment of unbearable weakness, Hermione Granger escapes one unthinkable fate for another. AU, HBP compliant, with a bit of DH canon thrown in for fun.


The last thing Hermione Granger well and truly remembered was an explosion of pain behind her eyes as a curse crashed against her turned back. She saw the blur of the wet ground beneath her feet as it rushed to meet her body and then she knew no more.

Later, as the sun rose high in the morning sky, consciousness flooded through her.

She made no move to stand, not even the slightest twitch in the effort to stretch her stiff muscles. Instead, she took a mental inventory of every ache that pulsed through her being. Her head was pounding something fierce and her skin stung wherever it came into contact with clothes or earth, but as far as she could tell her body was still intact; worse for the wear, but whole.

It took her addled brain longer to process her situation than it did her physical pain, but no matter how much dirt filled her nostrils, Hermione was not impervious to the acrid scent of sweat and blood. But nothing lingered more vehemently in the air than the tell-tale heaviness of smoke from fires long dead, permeating every breath she dared to take.

Images rose in her mind: Harry's wand slashing through the air towards Death Eaters, Ron falling helplessly to the madness of Bellatrix Lestrange, the panic of the younger students as they ran for their lives. Not only did the images flash across her mind's eye, she could still hear the desperate screams of dying Order members and Death Eaters alike. Despite knowing for months that the end was at hand, no one could have prepared fully for the extent of damage done in so little time.

Suddenly her stomach tightened as a wave of nausea hit her; with eyes watering, she forced herself to swallow the bile and panic alike, remembering the words of the late Mad-Eyed Moody: _Constant vigilance._

She continued to lay there immobile, breathing only so deep that the sullied air hit her lungs for the briefest of moments before she released it again through her nose, keeping her body as still as she could manage.

Hermione did not know how long she lay there, feigning death for any and all to see, but she was beginning to realize how grievously she had underestimated her injuries. Her joints would spasm sporadically, hinting to the effects of the Cruciatus curse. Even in the best of circumstances, there was little one could do, aside from gritting ones teeth and fighting through the pain of such a debilitating curse. That was not the most troubling development, however; the pounding in her head had increased to the point where she was slipping in and out of awareness. Even if she had to move, Hermione knew she would not have the strength or stomach for it.

She was tip toeing the edge of oblivion when the sound of heavy foot falls in the distance caught her attention. The Hogwarts' grounds had been eerily quiet since she had first woken, but it had not occurred to her until sound had broken the spell of such a deafening silence.

It took all the strength Hermione possessed not to reach for her wand, currently trapped between her body and the ground pressing uncomfortably into her sternum. She could not truly remember the last time she had been so vulnerable to an attacker, yet she held firm to the facade of death even as the footsteps crept closer.

Now, she could hear two distinct pairs of boots heading towards where she rested face down. As their movements grew closer still, Hermione slowed her breathing down even farther, until there was no doubt in her mind that she would asphyxiate.

"Check that one!" She heard a familiar voice yell to its companion. She was certain she knew who belonged to the voice, but through her weariness she couldn't place it.

All she could hear was a mumbled response too low for her ears to discern, as a lone set of booted feet came ever closer to her prone form.

It took a few beats for the stranger to set upon her. At first, she had thought they had passed her over altogether. That was until she heard the sharp intake of breath from above her, no doubt in recognition of her unruly hair.

Hope swelled in her chest at the thought of an Order member stumbling across her body in the aftermath of the battle, but it was quickly dashed as she felt the rounded toe of a boot prod her side.

Carefully at first, her unknown pursuer walked around her poking as they went. When she still didn't move, a swift kick hit her side. Hermione was thankful for the hair obscuring her face as her passive expression screwed up in immense pain. There was no doubt that without it, she would have immediately given herself away.

Before the pain had even thought to subside, strong hands threaded through her hair and yanked her head back to reveal her face. She allowed her jaw to go slack at the unexpected movement, but her eyes remained closed to her curiosity. Hermione could feel eyes on her face, memorizing each characteristic to their satisfaction. It was only when the stranger had looked their fill that the hands released their hold on her hair- her head made a resounding thud as it landed.

A sickly sweat broke out across her forehead. If the stranger's treatment was anything to go by, she knew she would be killed if discovered. She had survived long enough to wake and had been incredibly foolish not to run when she had the chance to do so, battered body or not. But her training with Lupin and Moody had prevented her from fleeing.

And now she would pay dearly for it.

"Found something good, I did."

"Doubtful, Goyle. Truly." With a start she realized the voice she had recognized belonged to Draco Malfoy.

She felt who she now knew to be Goyle step away from her as Draco neared. "Take a look."

Draco circled around her body before kneeling at her head. A rough hand reached for her, before sweeping the matted curls from her face.

"Granger." He said her name without emotion, the triumph one might expect to hear in his voice absent. Draco stayed staring for what seemed an eternity, and Hermione knew her pretense would not hold up under such intense scrutiny.

"She isn't dead," he announced finally. "Knocked out most likely, almost looks like she took a bloody bludger to the head."

Goyle sniggered nastily in response to Draco, fully enjoying her battered state. "Mudblood bitch."

The blond said nothing to his counterpart, instead he spoke quietly, almost as if he were exchanging a confidence with Hermione. "Enervate!"

The spell warmed her body considerably without having any true effect on her. She forced her eyes open, blinking rapidly in forced confusion before settling on Draco.

His proximity came as a true surprise to the young witch. Upon realizing how close their faces were, Hermione tried scrambling away from him and the indifference in his eyes as he watched her.

Her body protested at the sudden movement and a series of muscle spasms ran through her, every part of her angrily constricting and releasing rapidly, giving her the appearance of a seizure. When she finally stilled, she met Draco's gaze once more, questions obvious within their amber depths, but he paid no mind as he drew himself up to his full height.

Without a word, Goyle grabbed Hermione underneath her arms and dragged her to her feet. She was weak, weaker than she had imagined. Without his solid body behind her, she would have fallen once more into the ditch he had pulled her from.

"Accio Hermione's wand."

The finely crafted vine and dragon heart-string wand flew into Draco's outstretched hand before he jerked his head to the side, signaling for Goyle to walk forward.

Only then did Hermione dare survey the parts of her body she could see. The denims she had slipped on that morning were tattered beyond recognition, completely covered in dirt and blood, though she doubt it all belonged to her. She was barefoot and was unsurprised upon realizing she could barely feel them through the chill that had set in her bones. Not ready to see the carnage that surrounded her, Hermione shut her eyes tightly and counted each step her captor took.

Goyle was not gentle, nor had she expected him to be. He held her tightly in case of escape, though she could not truly muster the strength to even consider that course of action. Never the less, he half carried, half dragged her body until they reached their destination.

Opening one eye slowly, she saw that they stood before Hagrid's hut. Much to her surprise, little damage had been done to it. The roof had caved in slightly, and the garden that had been tended to with such love, was decimated.

There was no sign of Hagrid or Fang; she hoped desperately that they had escaped with their lives.

Draco came to stand beside them, stoic as she'd ever seen him. The spirited boy she had known for seven years was gone, replaced by a man who was now reserved and condescending without ever having to open his mouth.

Swallowing thickly, Hermione finally opened her mouth. "Whe-," she stumbled through the dryness of her throat. "Where are you taking me?"

The Slytherin prefect's demeanor changed none. "Do not ask stupid questions, Granger."

Her eyes grew wide in understanding.

"Draco, please... you can't!" Panic clawed at her.

"I can and I must. It's law." His tone broke no argument and she hung in Goyle's twisted semblance of an embrace, gathering the courage she knew she would need.

Draco, still wholly unmoved by Hermione's plea, placed his Death Eater mask over his face and she knew that Goyle must have had his secured since they had stumbled upon her. Once more, she felt her stomach roll in revulsion, only this time she allowed herself to empty the contents of her broken body until she did nothing but dry heave.

Neither man made a sound at her display, but she could feel Goyle's hands loosen minutely, his grip no longer a punishing vice.

Holding out his hand, Draco opened his palm. Resting there was a ring, harmless in appearance aside from the Malfoy Crest adorning the stone. Goyle clasped his hand over his friend's and without warning, Hermione felt the pull of an active Portkey, hurtling her tired body through emptiness until she felt cold stone beneath her feet.

Immediately, Goyle threw her from him and without turning around, Hermione could hear him as he dusted off his heavy robes, as if to dislodge her essence from his person. Falling to her knees on the immaculate floor, she put her hands out to break her fall, the sickening sound of flesh meeting solid strength echoed throughout the room.

"Very good."

She did not need to look up from where she bent to know who the voice belonged to, but still, her head rose almost as if she were mesmerized by the sound of it.

Voldemort sat upon what could only be described as a throne in the middle of a dais, black robes billowing out from his emaciated body like smoke itself. "Welcome, Hermione Granger."

She flinched at her name on the tongue of such a man.

"Yes, I do know all about the remarkable Hermione Jean Granger. Harry Potter's Mudblood, the brightest witch," the word came out as an unsettling hiss, "of her age. Is it true girl, that you brewed Polyjuice in your second year?"

She nodded dumbly, unsure of how to react to his inquiry.

"Truly remarkable."

He genuinely sounded amazed by such a triumph, but his eyes shone maliciously as they observed her.

A subtle movement in of the corner of her eye caught her attention and before she had the chance to accept what she was seeing, Severus Snape stepped out of the shadows behind his Master's pulpit and came to his side. He brought himself to one knee as a show of submission before he stood again.

Snape eyed her plainly. "Impressive, indeed."

No thoughts were able to form as she looked at her former professor, imposing and impenetrable as she remembered, thoroughly concealed in layers of black clothing.

He raised an eyebrow at her blatant appraisal of him.

"Traitor!" The words were ripped from her throat.

She could do nothing but propel herself towards him; her feet pushing her forward even as her knees rebelled. She had no wand, and though she could perform magic without one, her magical core was absolutely depleted.

No matter how much anger she recalled at the Headmaster's death at Snape's hand, she could not muster even an ounce of her power.

Regardless, she was restrained half a second after her outburst. The hands did not belong to Goyle, but she did not look behind her to see who had interrupted her depressing attempt at retaliation.

Snape looked thoroughly amused at her pronouncement, going as far as bringing his gloved hands together in mock applause. "So it would seem, Miss Granger."

"I trusted you! We all trusted you!"

"A mistake on your part, I'd say." He shrugged non-nonchalantly, immune to her desperation.

Sagging against the body behind her, Hermione was suddenly more tired than she had ever been in her life, the absolute truth of her situation finally realizing itself.

She whispered, "Dumbledore trusted you."

Voldemort laughed mirthlessly, never giving his most faithful servant the chance to respond. "Albus Dumbledore was a fool, nothing more and certainly nothing less. A sentimental old fool, unfit to shape such pliant, young minds."

There was a murmur of agreement throughout the room, and Hermione did not dare look behind her to the sea of Death Eaters she knew surrounded her.

"Come here, child." The snake-faced wizard raised a single digit and motioned for her to approach him. The Death Eater who supported the majority of her weight assisted her to their Master before bowing low to the ground and backing away.

The Dark Lord observed her carefully. "You are not quite what I had imagined you to be. Severus, you do her a great disservice."

"My Lord?" Snape queried.

Reaching out a hand to her chin, Voldemort forced her to meet his gaze straight on.

"She is spirited, more so than I was led to believe. Her display of pique was enjoyable, yes?"

"Quite, my Lord."

Voldemort agreed once more with himself, a low noise emitting from his throat.

"Intelligent, yet impressionable, I believe. Her blood status is undesirable..." He spoke aloud for his own benefit, preferring the theatrical to the commonplace. "But I find that I am in need of fresh-blood. Entertainment, if you will."

He regarded her once more, bringing his impossibly sleek thumb across her chapped lips slowly. "How would you delight in becoming my new pet, Hermione Granger?"


End file.
